


Approach-Avoidance

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: "mid-ep" for movie, Drama, Gen, Hurt feelings, Language, suggestion of serious illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: Approach-Avoidance: Conflict involving a decision regarding whether to pursue or avoid something that has both positive and negative aspects to it.The events before, during, and after the band meeting in Jim Beach's office. Brian's POV."Christ," Freddie moaned. "I have cocked this up beyond all hope of redemption."Brian had even missed this part of Freddie's complicated ego, the ability for him to wax dramatic about absolutely anything. "I'm not sure how you could've done a better job of breaking up the band," he commented, nudging Freddie's arm a bit to lessen the blow."Fuck the band, darling - I broke DEACY."Chapter One: AbsurdityChapter Two: AgreementChapter Three: AntipathyChapter Four: Amnesty





	1. Absurdity

June, 1985

 

As a man of science as much as music, Brian May didn't believe in Fate. He did, however, have a soft spot for absurdity.

When he woke up on a lovely June morning, it was absurd that his first thought was about, of all people, Freddie Mercury. It was even more absurd that thinking about him would bring on so much pain. After all, Freddie had abandoned him - them - over a year ago. Sometimes it felt like decades ago. At others it was still an open wound, as if it had been only yesterday that Freddie had spat the cruel words about "a fascinating dissertation on the cosmos that no one ever reads."

Disappearing into a crowd was a good way to clear his head, so Brian went for a long walk down Oxford Street. Naturally, HMV's window beckoned to him and he stopped to take a look at the display. "Queen's Greatest Hits" was advertised on a large banner as the Number One Bestseller. That would have been enough to make him happy, but what really brought a sparkle to his eyes was the stack of albums right by its side: Freddie's "Mr. Bad Guy" album, offered at half-price. Brian was not proud of the _schadenfreude_ he felt - take THAT, Freddie "I won't compromise my vision any longer" Mercury - but it had made him laugh aloud and kept him agreeable when the inevitable fans cornered him and pleaded for his autograph.

How absurd that he awoke thinking of Freddie and ended up seeing his face in the shop window. And how deliciously absurd that the band Freddie had deserted was outselling him.

Brian was still sporting a wry smile when he got home, where he was greeted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. He ran to pick up the receiver and scarcely had time to say "hello" before he heard a familiar, anxious voice.

"Don't hang up, Brian. It's Jim Beach."

"Why would I--"

"Never mind." Jim's cultured accent had a weary undertone. "Do you have a few minutes?"

There went Brian's upbeat mood. "Will I regret it if I say 'yes?'"

"Probably, but hear me out anyway, please."

Brian had no idea what to expect. Was there some difficulty with their finances? He'd surely have heard from Deacy had that been the case. Roger's album had done well and his own was nearly finished, so those weren't the problem. That left, absurdly enough...

"Freddie?"

"Yes. Freddie." Jim sounded relieved not to have to broach the subject himself. "He phoned from Munich and asked me to set up a meeting with the three of you."

_Shit.  
_

Brian felt the familiar dual tug of emotions that only Freddie could bring out in him. Righteous anger at how he and his friends had been treated battled with the genuine love he still felt for Freddie despite everything that had happened. He thought about his vicious glee in seeing Freddie's album remaindered, and guilt washed over him like sewage, fouling the very air in his lungs.

"Are you still there, Brian?" Jim prompted, interrupting the flood of conflicting sentiments.

"Yeah. I'm here. Just...it's a surprise, is all." He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. "What does he want? Because if he wants to put the band back together, I can't guarantee that Roger won't punch him in the face."

"He says he just wants to talk to you."

"If he wanted to talk to us, he could've picked up the phone a thousand times this last year. He could've taken Mary's calls, or yours, and now he wants to just show up as if nothing ever happened?" Brian cut himself off. He and Mary had discussed her thwarted attempts to get past Prenter, and the memory of her frustrated tears was raising his blood pressure. "Have you talked to Roger or John?"

There was a brief pause before Jim answered. "No. I wanted to run it past you, first."

"So I'm the canary in the coal mine?" Brian inquired, bitterness seeping into his voice again.

"I'd be lying if I didn't say that was part of it. But mostly, I know you have the most level head about the situation and I know the others will listen to you and follow your lead. What do you think they will do?"

Brian mused about it for a moment. "I know it seems as if Roger would be the hardest to convince, but he's got such a soft spot for Freddie, really, that he'd be likely to turn up just to hear what Freddie has to say."  
  
"What about John?"

John. For all Roger's shouting and swearing, it was John who had been the most dismayed by Freddie's defection. "I don't think John wants anything to do with Freddie, or Queen, anymore," Brian said carefully. "It's when he goes quiet and gets into his own head that you know how much pain he's actually feeling."

"Mmm." Jim's sigh spoke volumes. "The thing is, I believe that Freddie is genuinely remorseful over what he's done. He seemed almost desperate to get you guys onto the bill for Live Aid."

"That's a bit of a dead horse, though, isn't it?" Brian recalled seeing the line-up listed in a trade journal, not without regret that he wouldn't be able to participate.

"Not necessarily. Bob really wanted you lot involved, so I don't think it'd be too difficult to get him to find you a spot. And of course it's for a good cause."

_It's been thirteen years since George did the Bangladesh concerts. We weren't important enough to help at that one, and we're too dead in the water for this one.  
_

_Or maybe not.  
_

A headache began to unfurl at the back of Brian's neck, and he rubbed absently at the muscles there as Jim started to talk again.

"If I could just tell John and Roger that you're willing to hear Freddie out because of Live Aid, because YOU are willing to do it..."

"Jim, that's not fair."

"You think I don't know that? I hate putting you on the spot, especially out of the blue like this. I even told Freddie, explicitly and in exactly these words, that you three wanted nothing to do with him. But there was something about how he sounded...I can't explain it, but it was there. And I promised him I'd try."

Despite himself, Brian was intrigued. "What do you mean? What did he say?"

"He said he wanted - no, he needed to reconnect with 'the mothership.' And he said you were family."

"That's rich, since 'we're NOT a family' is precisely what he said to us the day he turned his back on us." Brian heard the outrage in his voice, but truthfully those words had cut him the deepest of all the appalling things Freddie had spouted.

Jim sighed again, and Brian winced when he thought of the number of headaches Queen had caused him over the years. "If you're certain that you want nothing to do with him, now or ever, just say so and we'll have done with it. I won't even bother to contact John or Roger; I'll tell Freddie that there will be no conversations and that the group is finished forever."

"You make it sound as if this is my fault," Brian spat. "Remember who walked out without a backward glance? Was that me?"

"I'm sorry." Jim's tone was grave. "That wasn't my intention. I only meant that whatever decision you make will, indeed, be final."

Brian scrubbed his face with his free hand and groaned. "I know that, man. I'm sorry I overreacted." He took a steadying breath. "What do you advise?"

"As your manager, or as your friend?"

"Why? Are the responses different?"

"As day and night," Jim's chuckle was humourless. "As your manager, I advise you to hear him out and put Queen back together so you can record again. As your friend, however, I think you should run as far as possible in the opposite direction and take the other two with you."

"Isn't there a middle ground?" Brian didn't care for either of Jim's answers. There was part of him that still missed Freddie as if he were a missing limb, but the other, logical part of him knew that there was a strong likelihood of being hurt again. "As a manager who is also our friend, and who is also Freddie's friend even if Freddie is too stubborn to realise it, is there an alternative?"

"As a matter of fact, I believe there is. You can agree to meet him, but in my office at a date and time that suits the three of you. Beforehand, you, Roger, and John will put your heads together and come up with a list of conditions under which you would be willing to work with him - or you can decide that you will never work with him again. But I want to make clear to Freddie that this is under your control, not his. He seems...I don't know, Brian, he seems to be beating himself up enough to even satisfy Roger. He knows he fucked you over and I honestly believe he wants to set things right even if the three of you won't take him back."

Brian remembered getting drunk with John and Roger after they left Freddie's house, remembered the anger and gloom of that night. Roger's howling anger and John's bitter grief had been mirrors of his own shocked sense of utter betrayal. It had taken weeks for Roger to pull himself together and throw himself back into his music. John...John never truly seemed to recover, choosing instead to immerse himself in his family and refusing to have more than a few brief conversations now and again with his old friends.

Would it be worth the risk to take Freddie back into the fold, let him aboard the "mothership?" Or would it be better to lay Queen to rest forever?

He didn't want the burden of making that decision. It would have to come from all three. And the only way to do that would be if they actually talked to one another.

"As luck would have it, Roger and I already planned to have dinner tomorrow night. l'll ask John to join us and we can talk it over. You can up a meeting for Friday at noon." High noon would be the perfect time to play out this farce. "Even if the answer is 'no,' Freddie should hear it from us."

"I think that's more than fair." Jim sounded as if an enormous boulder had been lifted off of him. "I'll be in touch. Thank you, Brian."

"Well, let's see what the rest of the band says before you offer me any thanks. I'll talk to you shortly." He set the receiver back on the hook and hunched over, lost in thought.

Freddie Fucking Mercury.

Again.

Brian shook his head and reached for the phone. He dialed a familiar number, praying that the right person would answer. "Hi, John, sorry to bother you - it's Brian. Yeah, it's been a while. Listen, can you have dinner with Rog and me tomorrow night at his? The most absurd thing has come up..."

 


	2. Agreement

After a sleepless night and a fretful day spent writing and ripping up notes on how to address his friends, Brian pulled up in front of Roger's house. He wasn't sure whether or not to talk to Roger beforehand, but he had made a point of showing up early so as to get there before John.

It hadn't worked. John's car was parked perfectly to leave the right amount of space for Brian to pull in easily behind him.

_Damn it, Deacy.  
_

Brian unfolded himself from behind the wheel and reached over for the bag containing crusty French bread from Roger's favourite patisserie as well as a bottle of Laphroaig. They were going to need something exceptionally strong tonight if they were ever going to reach an agreement.

He walked up the stairs, his heart hammering far too quickly. How had he let Jim talk him into this foolishness? Why couldn't he just bring himself to tell Freddie to fuck off and leave them alone? Surely no one could blame him if he did.

Roger's front door was open. His voice could be heard clearly, John's a little duskier, and Brian followed the sound to find both men in the lounge, smoking enormous cigars.

"Hello, guys," Brian called, hating how overeager he sounded. The haze of tobacco made his eyes water and he had to blink several times to clear his vision.  
  
"Bri, you're early - shit, where'd I put the other ashtray?" Roger said by way of greeting. "We meant to be done by the time you got here."

John stubbed out his cigar and waved fruitlessly at the nicotine-laden miasma over his head. He got up and opened windows on opposite sides of the room, then went to Brian and extended his hand.

 _When had they stopped just flinging their arms around one another?_  
_Oh, yeah - the day Freddie dumped them._

Brian set down his bag and shook the offered hand, smiling in relief when John clasped back with both hands, warmly. "You've got thin," John said as he glanced up and down Brian's lanky frame.

Had he? "I suppose," Brian sighed. "Food's not a huge priority these days. You look good, though."

John really did. He'd let his hair grow out into a wavy mass of auburn that softened the angles of his face, and his long legs were muscular - no wonder, given that he had four little children running him about all the time.

Roger extinguished his cigar and strode over to where his friends were standing. Always more outwardly affectionate than he seemed, he draped his arms around Brian and tugged him in for an embrace. "Sorry 'bout the smoke," he mumbled into Brian's shirt.

"Sorry to be so early." He pointed to the bag. "There's some of that bread you like, and a nice scotch."

As eagerly as a child exploring his Christmas stocking, Roger peered at his goodies with a huge smile. "Perfect. We've got pesto to go with the linguine. And John brought booze, too, so at least we'll be well-lubricated for whatever bad news you're about to deliver."

_Fuck._

"Roger, I--"

"Save it for after dinner. Please." Roger's eyes twinkled, but there was sadness in the tilt of his head and the downturn of his mouth.

"Actually," John broke in as he looked back and forth between his two friends, "I'd rather just rip off the bandage right now, if you don't mind."

Brian ran a hand up the back of his neck. Yesterday's headache was making a return appearance. "Can we compromise and talk about it during dinner? I haven't eaten all day, and I absolutely need a drink."

If they couldn't agree on when to talk, there was no hope of agreeing on what to do afterwards.

Shrugging, Roger led them to the dining room, where the scent of Italian food replaced the cigar stench. Fragrant steam rose from chafing dishes on the sideboard. Brian sniffed appreciatively. "I won't insult Dominique by suggesting that you did all this cooking," he teased. Roger flipped him off.

"There are only three place settings," observed John. "Does that mean I eat in the kitchen with Felix?"

"No, you numpty," Roger grumbled as he took the French bread out of the bag and placed it on an empty plate. "Dom and Felix are at my parents' for the night. She doesn't need the shop talk and he doesn't need to hear the language." He grinned at Brian. "I'm assuming we're going to be needing ALL our words tonight, correct? I mean, this sudden need to see both of us can only mean one thing: Freddie."

_So much for leading into the subject gently.  
_

"If we're going to talk about Freddie, I'm going to need much, much more alcohol," John snarked as he took the seat nearest the whiskey decanter on the table. He poured a generous glass for himself, twisting in his chair as he squinted at Roger and Brian.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry I wasn't more straightforward." Brian took John's plate as well as his own to the sideboard and heaped food on both. He slid the full dish in front of John and took the seat opposite. Roger served himself and sat at the head of the table.

"Pass the bottle here," he directed John. After pouring some for himself and for Brian, he lifted his glass. "What the fuck are we drinking to?"

"Ourselves. The survivors of Typhoon Mercury," John replied, clinking his glass against Roger's. "C'mon, Brian, it's a toast." He raised an eyebrow at Brian, who reluctantly touched his glass to John's and Roger's.

The first long sip of whiskey soothed his throat. He gestured for the others to start eating. "I was going to say that you must be wondering why I asked to see you both, but you've already figured that out, at least in part. Yes, this is about Freddie."

"Have you seen him?" John asked. There was more hurt than curiosity in his question.

"No." Brian took a forkful of linguine and forced himself to eat it. It was fresh, full of garlic and basil and creamy sauce, but it tasted like sand in his mouth. He drank more whiskey and let the sweet burn settle his nerves before he went on. "He's been in contact with Jim Beach, and Jim called me yesterday. He says, and this is a quote, that Freddie told him he 'needs to reconnect with the mothership.' To meet with us."

"He's got a fucking set of balls," Roger muttered. He grabbed the French bread and tore off a piece, savagely, as if he were tearing Freddie's head from his body.

John was pushing food around on his plate without tasting anything. When he reached for his glass, his hand trembled and he set it back down again. Brian reached across the table and patted his arm. "I know this is opening a wound for you, Deacy. Believe me, the phone call wasn't exactly the highlight of my week. But I told him to set up a meeting with Freddie on Friday at noon."

"I didn't agree to that!" shouted Roger as John simultaneously declared, "You have no right--"

"Just listen, okay? If you don't want to go - either or both of you - if you never want to see him again, or to record again as Queen with him, then fine. Your decision, and I'll honour it." Brian felt his face growing hot, his breathing becoming shallow with anxiety. "Either way, I'm going. Whether I tell him that we're through forever, or if we try to come to some sort of...truce, whatever, I want to tell him to his face."

"If you say you owe it to him or some shite like that, I swear to God..." Roger brandished his fork for a moment, then let it fall to his plate. He leaned over and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, fuck it," he mumbled.

Beneath the bluster and the rockstar persona, Roger had an enormous, loyal heart. Brian loved him for it, so he chose his next words carefully. "I know that Freddie crossed the line, Rog."

"Crossed it?" John had incredulity written all over his expressive face. "That line he never should have crossed is about ten kilometers behind him, and he doused it with petrol, AND lit a match."

Roger snorted, and Brian felt a little ghost of a smile on his own lips. "He burned us, yeah. But maybe he burned himself, too." He looked down at his plate. "And part of me wants to make sure he's okay."

When he looked up again, he saw a hint of moisture in John's eyes. Biting his lip, John nodded acquiescence. Roger sighed dramatically. "So if - IF - we go to this meeting, what will we say to him?"

"We can hear him out and go from there," suggested Brian, but John shook his head.

"I'm fine with hearing him out, but we need contingency plans." There, that sounded more like their Deacy. "Let's assume he wants to re-form the band. What would be our list of demands?"

Brian took in a lungful of air. He hadn't really thought it out that far. He looked over at Roger, who had resumed eating his dinner.

After patting his mouth with a napkin, Roger raised a finger. "Most important thing. He's got to get rid of Prenter. Full stop."

"Absolutely," John said, and Brian bobbed his head in agreement. "And as for his bitching about recording stuff, I have a solution to that. Not sure how you two will feel about it, though." He leaned back in the chair. "What if we credit everything to all four of us? Split it evenly, four ways. Then it's just a matter of personal pride, who gets on the albums or singles, but it's not a financial thing anymore."

"Ha! Freddie would never go along with that," laughed Roger. "I'm not sure what would bother him more: losing the credit or losing the money."

"No, no, Deacy's right, he's a mastermind." Brian enjoyed the grateful smile John directed at him. "If Freddie can be talked into that, then we know he's sincere. If not, then..." He shrugged. "We part ways, I guess. At least with him."

_But not with one another. Please. Someone, say it._

Brian turned his attention to his food, hoping that eating might calm the storm of emotions blasting through him. It was one thing to lose Freddie - that pain was old, something he could endure. But the thought of never sharing a studio with John again, never peering around a glass partition to make faces at Roger...

He heard Roger try to disguise a gleeful snicker behind an unconvincing, fake cough. What was that about? Brian swallowed a mouthful of pasta and looked up in time to see a pea-sized ball of bread sail toward him.

"Ahh!" john cried in fake despair. "I only got three."

"Three...what?"

This time, Roger didn't bother to hide his laughter. "He's been flicking bread at your hair since we sat down. Got three in a row, this time."

"Easier than peanuts across an entire stage in terms of trajectory, but harder because you're close enough to catch me." John's grin could only be described as shit-eating. Brian combed his fingers through his hair, shedding breadcrumbs all over the tablecloth.

God, but he loved his friends. After flicking a loose bread-ball at John, who caught it neatly in his mouth, Brian said, "Then I take it we'll all be at the meeting."

"Absolutely," Roger affirmed. "Friday at twelve-forty."

"It's at noon." _Oh._ "Oh, so we're planning to be--"

"Late. Yes." Roger emptied his glass and poured another for himself. "Now, will you please actually EAT this food? And, by the way, would either of you be free next week to help me out with a backing track? I was hoping for Tuesday."

John's reply was immediate. "Absolutely. It'll be fun, Brian, don't you think?"

He was only too happy to agree.


	3. Antipathy

The butterflies in Brian's stomach were doing the fandango. 

When he checked in with Jim he mentioned that the three of them planned to arrive late. Jim took the news with a healthy dose of ironic humour and said only that Freddie seemed "unusually anxious" for the meeting. 

By just gone half-past noon, Brian was sitting quietly in the lobby of the office building. He was wearing an oversized white jacket reminiscent of Freddie's "angry lizard" look from many years ago, black jeans that hung too loosely on his slim hips, and the combination of clogs and white socks that always drove Freddie up a tree. Nervous and apprehensive, Brian kept twisting locks of his hair as he waited for John and Roger to appear.

They arrived together a few minutes later, obviously having taken pains to dress in ways that would set Freddie's teeth on edge. Roger's shirt was a cacophony of discordant colours inexplicably topped off with an expensive tan leather jacket, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. John had chosen to wear a faded blue denim jacket and jeans and a plain black shirt - another combination Freddie loathed - and left his hair in wild disarray. 

They rode the elevator in silence and got off outside Jim's office. Roger motioned for for Brian to walk in front, with John bringing up the rear. Brian took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself to see Freddie, before he knocked briskly on the door and opened it. 

"Hi, guys," Jim greeted them with practiced nonchalance.

"Jim," Brian said as he took his first look at the friend who had caused him so much pain. 

Freddie almost rose from the chair, as if expecting them to hug him, then sank back down again in disappointment. His face was drawn, and something in his eyes made Brian want to hug him and tell him that it was going to be okay. But John and Roger would kill him if he did it, so instead he took a seat on the sofa. He sensed desperation in Freddie's eyes, and it almost broke his heart to summon up enough anger to keep his own expression carefully neutral. 

Jim broke the tense silence. "Anybody wants any tea, coffee, bladed weapons, just...just ask."

John sat next to Brian, legs crossed tightly, body turned completely away from Freddie. Roger took the chair opposite Freddie, also crossing his legs away from him. His sunglasses had hidden his eyes, but when he took them off there were obvious traces of sleeplessness.

"So, who wants to go first?" asked Jim. 

"I'll start," Freddie said as he shifted uneasily in the chair. "I've been hideous. I know that, and I deserve your fury." Freddie sounded somehow smaller, deflated, and Brian had trouble managing his emotional response. "I've been conceited, selfish...well an asshole, basically." 

"Strong beginning," said Roger. His face was composed, but he was fiddling with the sunglasses in his hand. 

"Look, I'm happy to strip off my shirt and flagellate myself before you, or rather I could ask you a simple question." 

Roger spoke up again, deadpan. "I'm good with the flagellation." 

Brian turned toward Freddie, wincing at how miserable he was. He couldn't even look at any of them until he finally turned to Brian at the end of his question. "What is it gonna take for you all to forgive me?" 

It hurt to see Freddie brought so low, but Brian's injured pride was still bleeding too much to give in. "Is that what you want, Freddie?" he asked, shaking his head and raising his hands. "I forgive you." He turned to Jim. "Is that it, can we go now?" 

"No." Freddie's tone turned more serious, more desperate, and Brian couldn't look away from him any more. "I went to Munich, I hired a bunch of guys, I told them exactly what I wanted to do, and the problem was...they did it. No pushback from Roger." Roger's face lost its steeliness for a moment. Freddie turned to Brian. "None of your rewrites," he said, then peered over at John. "None of his funny looks." 

John smiled, but he still kept his face averted.

"I need you." The words Brian had longed to hear from Freddie for over a year were finally spoken. "And you need me." Freddie leaned forward and truly met Brian's gaze as he touched him on the leg. "Let's face it, we're not bad for four aging queens." 

His attempt at a joke fell flat. Roger's indifferent mask was up again, and Brian could feel John folding in on himself. Freddie cast a glance at Roger, eager, hopeful. "So um, go ahead, name your terms." 

This was the moment Brian had hoped would come, but he still felt the need to maintain control over the situation. When Freddie looked from Roger back over to him, Brian asked, "Could you give us a moment please, Fred?"  
  
Freddie's face fell, but he got up and left the room. After he closed the door, John turned to Brian, plainly confused by the ad lib. "Why'd you do that?" 

"I just felt like it," admitted Brian, and even Roger managed to chuckle. 

Jim rose and inclined his head toward the door as he prepared to follow Freddie into the hall. 

"What do you think?" John asked once they were alone. "Does he seem contrite enough to you?" 

"Yeah." Roger's grin was predatory. "But I still want to make him sweat."

Brian bit back a smile. "So, John, you can tell him about the deal we want. We'll know for certain if he's serious by how he answers, and we'll take it from there. Roger, is that okay with you?" 

"Perfect. But I might mess with him a little, first." 

Brian reached over and tapped John on the shoulder. John stood, went to the door, and stepped out into the hallway. "You can come back in now, if you'd like." 

Freddie strode quickly back to his chair, almost vibrating with anticipation. Jim, quieter and more wary, returned to his desk. 

Roger addressed Freddie like a cat playing with a mouse. "We decided...what did we decide?" 

Everyone's attention went to John as he spoke the words he'd been rehearsing. His tone was matter-of-fact, inviting Freddie to take it or leave it - and them. "From now on, every song, no matter who wrote it, music lyrics, it's by Queen. Not one of us, just Queen. All the money, all the credits, split four ways evenly." 

"Done," Freddie declared at the instant John took a breath. No hesitation, no negotiation. 

"We have a problem with the people around you," Roger said evenly. 

Again, Freddie's reply was immediate. "Paul is out. I fired him." 

Brian felt pure elation. Thank God Freddie had come to his senses about that snake in the grass. 

John wore a curious expression. "On what pretext?" he inquired. 

"Villainy." Well, that was straightforward. "What else?" 

"Bob Geldof," Jim said. "I called to convince him to squeeze you guys into the lineup for the Live Aid concert, but he wants an answer now. You have to make a decision. Every ticket's already sold: hundred thousand people at Wembley, hundred thousand people at JFK Stadium in Philadelphia, a global TV audience around the world of a hundred and fifty countries, thirteen satellites. The Olympics? Only had three." 

_Jesus Christ.  
_

Roger, who had been listening to Jim with his mouth agape, voiced Brian's worst fears. "We haven't played together in years. It's kinda suicide to play again for the first time, in front of millions." 

_Oh, Roger, you have no idea_. Brian had done his homework and piped in with, "Try over one point five BILLION." His blood was running cold as he imitated what the young audience might say. "Who are these four dinosaurs? Where's Madonna?" 

Jim kept going. "It's a twenty minute set. Everyone gets the same: Jagger, Bowie, Elton, McCartney, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Phil Collins, REO Speedwagon, Bob Dylan." 

"Certainly good company," agreed John in a tone between awe and self-deprecation. 

"Anybody who is anybody is doing this concert," Jim said firmly. 

Freddie didn't miss a beat, leaning forward as if yearning for them to agree to the performance. "Look. All I know is that if we wake up the day after this concert, and we didn't do our part, we're going to regret it until the day we die." 

Brian glanced at Roger, who had gone pale. When he turned back to Freddie, he saw something he had never witnessed before. 

Freddie was begging them. 

"Please," was all he said, but the look in his eyes went straight to Brian's heart and melted the last of the antipathy he was feeling. From the sight of Roger's wide eyes and the sudden intake of John's breath, Brian could tell that they all felt the same way. 

So Brian nodded.


	4. Amnesty

Brian's nod was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make Freddie light up. So many emotions crossed that expressive face: relief, gratitude, excitement. Hope. Optimism replaced the fear in Freddie's eyes as he turned to Roger. "Rog?" he asked. 

Roger uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He flicked a glance at Brian, who raised his eyebrows, then he looked at Freddie. "Like I said, it's probably suicide. Or at the very least, it's crazy...but I'm in." 

_Two down..._

Their focus turned to John. Brian recognised the conflict in his tight posture and half-closed eyes. Freddie started to get up, to go to him, but Brian stilled him with a hand on his knee. _Give him a minute_ was the unspoken message. Freddie set his hand on top of Brian's and gave it a little squeeze. _I understand.  
_

God, how Brian had missed these little moments of silent communication. 

After what felt like forever, John sat up straighter and said, "I need more information." 

Jim cleared his throat. "It's for charity, 100% of the proceeds go to the fund to relieve--" 

"I know, that bit's fantastic, brilliant. But that's not the information I'm talking about." John's hands moved uneasily as he continued. "I need to know what this means, beyond a one-off for Geldof's thing." He directed the full force of his gaze on Freddie. "You're asking us to put our hearts on the line for you, Fred, and before I can do that I have to know something. Do you want this gig because you're part of the band, or do you just want to use us as backing musicians?"

Brian's breath caught in his throat and his heart stuttered. Beneath his palm he could feel the muscles in Freddie's leg tense up. 

In a thin, high voice, Roger said, "He already agreed to meet our terms." 

"True. But for how long?" There was some anger in John's words, but mostly sorrow. "Once we do the Live Aid gig, what's to stop you from fucking off again?" 

"I won't. I give you my word," Freddie declared earnestly. 

John let out a little gust of air that might have been either a chuckle or a sob. He looked down at the floor, away from Freddie's face. "There was a time when that would've been all I needed from you." 

Freddie held his hands out, supplicating. "Deacy, darling, I'm so--" 

John's pent-up anger erupted. "No! Don't you dare - don't you fucking DARE call me that. It's John, to you. And I'm not your darling. I'm the one you couldn't be arsed to remember anything about, the day you shat all over us!" He took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I loved you, Freddie. You were my fucking IDOL, did you know that? And now...you expect me to..." John stumbled as he leapt to his feet, as if the outburst had sapped all his strength, and Brian quickly stood up to steady him. 

"Take a deep breath. And another, that's good, that's good," Brian soothed, taken aback by how violently John trembled in his arms. He hadn't expected this explosion at all, but given how long John had kept his suffering to himself, it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. 

Roger joined them and placed a hand gently on John's shoulder. "Let's take this one step at a time, okay? Can we grant him amnesty for just one thing - the Live Aid concert?" He ducked his head so he could look into John's eyes. "We can't do it without you. Just this one thing, for right now." 

It was always astonishing to watch the two of them interact. Devil-may-care, look-at-me Roger was able to smooth John's ire when no one else could reach him. Brian adored him for that. 

"All right," John said after a long, agonising pause. He turned to face Freddie. "I'll do it. But if you expect me ever to trust you again, Freddie, you'll have to earn it." 

No sound came from Freddie's lips even though they moved. 

Brian wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. He was dizzy, and something in his chest didn't quite work. He found he was leaning on John as much as supporting him. 

Jim broke the tense silence. "Is that a yes to the concert, John?" he began, and when John gave him a tight nod he continued. "I'll go to another office to call Geldof. You lot can stay here - I'll make certain you're not disturbed." He walked slowly past, giving John's arm a little pat as he headed out the door. 

Exhausted after the last few sleepless nights and anxious days, Brian pulled away and collapsed on the sofa, leaning backwards until he was looking up at the ceiling. He heard Roger let out a little sigh. "C'mon, Deacy, let's get some tea. You'll feel better after. Freddie, Brian, will you two be all right for a few minutes?" 

"Yes." Freddie's reply was nearly inaudible. Brian merely waved a hand at them. When the door closed, the two of them were left alone, which Brian hadn't been prepared for. He made himself breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, keeping his eyes closed to stave off the unexpected threat of tears. 

The sofa cushion shifted under Freddie's weight. Brian could feel his warmth radiating from him as he moved close enough for them to sit shoulder to shoulder. "Christ," Freddie moaned. "I have cocked this up beyond all hope of redemption." 

Brian had even missed this part of Freddie's complicated ego, the ability for him to wax dramatic about absolutely anything. "I'm not sure how you could've done a better job of breaking up the band," he commented, nudging Freddie's arm a bit to lessen the blow. 

"Fuck the band, darling - I broke DEACY." 

That made Brian sit up and face his wayward friend with a rueful smile. "He's not broken. He's said his piece and now he'll come 'round. You know how the four of us are when we're angry: you and Roger burn up like a Roman candle, all bang and flash and then it's over, but John and I internalize everything until we can't hold it in any longer, and then it turns into...this." 

Freddie bit his lip, then asked, shyly, "Are you as angry with me as he is?" 

"Honestly?" When Freddie nodded, eyes downcast, Brian decided to tell the truth. "Once the shock wore off I was as angry as I've ever been. I felt betrayed. And I saw how much Roger and Deacy were hurting, so I was furious on their behalf as well." He stood up and stretched, then wandered around the room looking at the various gold and silver Queen discs on Jim's walls. "Our whole lives' work revolved around us being a band. If you'd just said you wanted to do some solo stuff now and then to keep yourself fresh, we'd have been fine. But you cut us off, Freddie, and it was fucking cruel the way you did it." 

When Freddie stood up, he wavered for a moment and had to brace himself on the arm of the sofa. The face he turned to Brian was tormented, eyes brimming with tears and lips trembling. Freddie opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and bowed his head. He looked so despondent that Brian wrapped his arms around him. With a little gasp, Freddie hugged him tightly. 

When they pulled away, Freddie kept his hands at Brian's small waist, just above the jut of his hips. "You're so fucking skinny, love," he whispered, his eyes widening in alarm. "You're just bones and hair." 

"Yeah, I'm hearing that a lot these days." Brian shrugged to hide his embarrassment. "Eating's not a high priority when...well, my life's been a bit..." He shook his head. "I've been at loose ends, is all." He didn't want to get into the ins and outs of his depression and the fear that he was falling out of love with his wife just as they were trying for a third child. 

Freddie played with the ends of Brian's hair, twisting strands around his fingers as he smiled wistfully. "You used to tell me everything. You still can, you know." 

Brian knew. He fondly recalled murmured conversations on overnight bus trips, advice dispensed with breakfast or tea, confessions made and absolutions offered in dressing rooms all over the world. "I appreciate it, and someday I'll take you up on the offer, I promise. But right now I just need time, same as Deacy." 

"Time," Freddie whispered. "Everyone needs time. I need it, too." 

Brian swallowed hard against the unnamed fear rising in his throat and tried to ignore the distant alarms going off in the back of his mind. "Freddie?" 

Freddie shook his head the way he used to when his hair was long and constantly getting in his eyes. "Don't mind me, dear. It's been a long couple of days." 

The answer didn't completely satisfy Brian, but he was running on fumes and decided to let it go. It was time to change the subject to something more practical. "We should start thinking about a setlist," he said. 

If he had offered Freddie a magnum of champagne and six pedigreed cats, Freddie couldn't have looked any happier. Grinning broadly, Freddie started rummaging around in Jim's desk for paper and pencil. "A hundred thousand people - we have to do 'Rock You' and 'Champions.'" 

"Absolutely." Brian began pacing the room the way he always did when he wanted to think clearly. "Start with a bit of BoRhap first?" 

Before Freddie could respond, the door opened and Roger returned with John in tow. John's eyes were swollen and a little red-rimmed. There was something fragile in his countenance when he and Roger approached Freddie. "Sorry, Fred," he whispered sheepishly. 

"Don't be. I deserved that, and so much more." Freddie approached the two of them cautiously, as if they were a pair of skittish horses. 

Suddenly Freddie's arms were full of Roger, who hugged him tightly and murmured, "God, I missed you" into his ear. It was his pardon, his amnesty, offered with every fibre of his loving heart. 

"I missed you, too," Freddie replied in an amazed whisper. He held out a hand to John. "I know I'll have to earn your love again. And I will, if it takes...if it takes the rest of my life." 

With the tentative, careful bearing of a man who'd been once-burned, John took the offered hand and looked into Freddie's eyes. John's understanding smile was a thing of beauty. Clemency pleaded for and granted, he glanced over to the legal pad already half-covered in Freddie's artistic scrawl. "Are you doing a setlist?" John asked. 

"And we desperately need your input," Freddie declared. He let go of Roger and put his arm around John, softly, gauging his mood. John leaned into the magic of his caress and let Freddie lead him to the desk. "Starting here with 'BoRhap,' and ending with 'Champions'...what do you think we need to do in between?" 

Roger bounded up to them, keen to make his opinions known as well. The three of them spoke excitedly, grabbing pencils and scribbling in the margins. Brian's heartache began to lessen at the sight of his three friends working together at last. He hung back to watch and listen. 

It wasn't perfect yet. He knew that it would take time for their bond to mend completely, for them to feel like brothers again. 

But they had all the time in the world for that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiannode - come talk to me!


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